Page 15 of Arranged Control

Ipause outside the Whelan family home. Lights are on downstairs. My brothers are already here: Cormac with his pregnant wife, Bianca, the oldest, Declan, and the youngest, Finn. I’m the third in line.

They’ll all be expecting Seamus the lighthearted killer. And that’s who I am most of the time. Life is easy if you know how to float. I drift from job to job, not thinking too far ahead. Plans only hold together when nothing’s happening. Every other time, they fall apart. I’ve learned how to bend with the wind. How to drift like smoke.

They like it when I’m smirking and cracking jokes. Drinking more than is healthy and laughing twice as loud as anyone else.

Sometimes that’s all for show. Because life’s easier that way.

If you’re never pinned down, you can’t ever get caught.

I take a second to compose myself. I slip into the usual persona. My shoulders ease. A smile crosses my lips.

Until I think of Alina.

Pretty little Alina. Petite and lovely. Pear-shaped hips, palm-sized breasts, lightly tanned skin, lots of blonde hair. Indecisive, insecure, stubborn, and overly planned Alina.

And the look on her face as she threw me out of her apartment.

God, I can be such a fucking asshole. A real piece of shit.

Not as bad as her last boyfriend at least.

But that’s the thing. Some days I’m decent, but most days I’m not, and maybe it’s better she learned that early.

I tried to warn her. I’m not a good guy.

And it’s easy to slip away if you never get attached in the first place.

I have to compose myself again. My shoulders hunched and my jaw tightened the second Alina slipped back into my head. I can’t seem to get her out, no matter how hard I try.

It’s been three days since I was in her apartment, and she’s haunting me.

My future wife.

I head inside. Everyone’s sitting around the kitchen table. Cormac’s got his hand on his pretty Italian bride’s thigh. Bianca’s quite pregnant now and visibly showing. The girl’s lucky though. Pretty sure only her boobs got bigger along with her belly. Or maybe Cormac’s the lucky one.

Mom’s sitting at one end of the table. Siobhan Whelan’s laughing at something Finn said. My youngest brother grins back eagerly. Dad’s at the other end, chatting with Declan, probably about work. Those two don’t talk about muchelse. Padraig Whelan’s a good man and a good father, but everything’s the family with him.

“Glad you graced us with your presence,” Finn says as I grab myself a beer from the refrigerator.

“Late again,” Declan grunts at me.

“Am I?” I make a show of opening the beer and drinking it. “Guess I didn’t notice.”

“He never does,” Cormac says, grinning slightly. “Always did love your own schedule.”

“Come join us.” Mom beckons me over to the empty seat at her left side. I kiss her cheek before plopping down. I salute Bianca with my bottle.

“How’s the baby cooking?”

She pats her belly. “Coming along. How’s the streets?”

“Filthy, all thanks to me.” I take a big glug from the bottle. “Ah, look at this, you’re all so polite for waiting.” Their plates are already cleared, replaced with Mom’s lemon cake.

“I saved you some.” Mom gets me a plate from the counter. Roast lamb and colcannon, mashed potatoes mixed with cabbage. “Go ahead, eat what you want.”

“What are they talking about?” I ask Finn, nodding at Declan and Dad. They’re already leaning into each other and speaking quietly again.

“Probably Fergus. Poor bastard.” He crosses himself, scowling. “Ugly business.”